


The Eagle and The King

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Aragorn is Sorry, Brooding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Helm's Deep, Hope, How Do I Tag, Kings Of Men Together, M/M, Old Boys Having Fun?, Old Friends, Quickies Before Battle, Theoden Doesn't Mind, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: After Aragorn missteps a few times with Theoden, he decides to apologize. Thankfully, old friendships are not forgotten easily, and Theoden doesn't hold any grudge.AKATwo old boys having fun for the sake of old times.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Théoden Ednew
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	The Eagle and The King

**Author's Note:**

> There was an idea in my head, inspired by something else. The movies helped. There you have it! 
> 
> MermaidSheenaz cast an eye over this, didn't smack me, so I guess it's alright to post <3 Hannon le, hir nin!

People of Rohan were busy fortifying the doors and moving supplies to better spots, accompanied by distinct murmurs of captains planning the best line of defense. Aragorn looked around at the preparations, noticing with surprise that, while tired and edgy, the men and women of Rohan were more than capable of hard work. Lesser men would have given up by then.  It was their endless determination and their undying love towards their king that pushed them forward.

With a sigh, Aragorn turned around and headed back to the keep, directing his steps to the tower. He knew Theoden’s rooms were located there, and he hoped to meet the king and apologize for his comments. They had been unasked for, his weariness and anger at the situation they had all found themselves in coloring his words with annoyance he didn’t feel. His temper had been raised a long time before he had stepped into Meduseld and, if he let it persist, it would probably ruin what friendship he hoped to keep between himself and Theoden. 

They had met before, many years ago, when Aragorn’s name had been Thorongil, and Theoden had been little more than a wee lad. At first, they had just passed the same corridors a few times a year, with Thorongil being busy in the army of King Thengel, and it hadn’t been until Theoden had grown up some and joined them under his father, that they had finally met properly. Shortly, they had bonded over late-night fires on the battlefield, their easy camaraderie letting them fall onto the same bedroll. The rising sun had often found them with their clothes missing in those old days, and  Aragorn could still recall with ease the youthful appearance and undiminished curiosity of the youngster he had drank and slept with. Theoden had been a good fighter back then, the son of the King of Rohan, as courageous as all his forebears, and he remained so till this day. There were changes in him, of course, occurring as life went on, giving his eyes wisdom and his words power. He seemed steadier now, more thoughtful, and Aragorn found himself longing for his company. 

With hope deep in his heart that he had not misstepped too gravely, the ranger knocked on the heavy door, glancing at the guards standing to each side of the wooden wings.  They stared at him in a detached sort of way that spoke of a thorough assessment of him possibly being a threat to their king which had already been done. Going by their disinterest, they found no danger to his presence here. 

“Aragorn?” Theoden’s voice sounded surprised when the door opened, but he stepped back and invited him inside with a wave of his hand. Bowing his head in a show of remorse, Aragorn stepped in, waiting till the door was closed once again. Theoden then moved in front of him, gave him a thorough looking-over with his keen, blue eyes, before he started to walk deeper into the room, bidding the ranger to follow. 

“What brings you here? Any trouble?” The king asked, motioning for Aragorn to take a seat in one of the spacious armchairs placed in front of a fireplace. There were only two logs of wood burning inside, and while low, the flame was enough to warm him instantly. Shaking his head, Aragorn took the offered place, his gaze following Theoden as he moved to an old, oaken desk.    
“Nothing you don’t already know about, at least to my knowledge,” he explained, taking the room in. 

It looked like a study, but was a lot more spacious than the chambers in Edoras had been. Its make was such that it flowed naturally into another room at the back of it, where the edge of a bed could be seen just behind the door frame. The bare stone of the walls had been softened with tapestries that had not been dusted for a long time, and there were  bearskins scattered here and there, forming a curious-looking path that led through the joined space. 

“Here.” Theoden returned, carrying two cups and offering one to Aragorn, who took it carefully. It was filled with red wine and, from the fresh smell of it, Aragorn guessed it to be Miruvor. A rare treat in these lands.

“A battle lies before us,” the king said, sitting down in the other armchair, stretching his legs out towards the fire. “And it will be a tough one. But there’s time to rest still, as I thought you would also.” He said, sipping from his cup, and Aragorn followed.  
“I could not,” he answered after a moment. “For my heart is troubled.”   
“And what troubles it, my friend? Is it the war around us or the unknown beyond it?” Theoden asked, frowning.   
“Neither. It is my own actions that come back to haunt me, for I have acted wrongly towards you.” Aragorn said warily, looking at the king.   
“Wrongly? And towards me?” The surprise was clear on Theoden’s features, so the ranger followed with an explanation. 

“I should not have questioned you, neither in Edoras, nor here, when we walked upon the walls of Hornburg. You are the king, and after the recent happenings, after the losses you’ve lived through, it was truly crass of me…” He trailed off, not sure as to what else he could say. Theoden stared into the meager fire for some time, then brought one hand up, rubbing at his forehead almost tiredly. They were positioned next to each other at such an angle that the action made it hard to see his face, and Aragorn hoped that he had not overstepped yet again when the king’s body seized unexpectedly. Afraid of bringing too many bad memories up, the ranger sat stock still, until he heard a chuckle leaving Theoden. Soon after, the king drew his hand back and his merrily twinkling eyes found Aragorn’s. 

“I have not seen you for nearly fifty years, and the first thing we do when you come back is snipe at each other!” He gave a short laugh, but recovered quickly, looking at his companion with fondness. “It is good to have you here, Thorongil or Aragorn, or whatever name you go by now!”    
“Aragorn, if you please. It is time for me to be myself at last.” The ranger bowed his head, and Theoden smiled warmly.    
“Ah… if you but knew how I missed Thorongil all those years!” He said wistfully, taking a drink from his cup. “All those battles, all the matters of the court! Many times have I paused and thought to myself,  _ if only Thorongil could lend me his sword, _ or  _ if only Thorongil could hear this ridiculous idea!  _ Where have you been all those years?” He asked, curious but still managing not to be too inquiring. Aragorn shrugged, taking a sip of the wine.    
“I have spent many years with the Rangers of the North. I have also been concerned with Shire and its inhabitants, the small Halflings you might have heard of.” 

Theoden thought upon the matter for a longer moment, but he shook his head finally.    
“No, I’m afraid I have not heard of such people. I have to admit, though, that through the darkness of Grima’s time in Edoras, my thoughts were not all right and my memory of this time is fickle. If any of my men mentioned such a nation, I cannot recall it.” He looked down, his gaze bearing a grim edge to it.    
“Ah, I wouldn’t worry!” Aragorn hastened to reassure. “They are gentle folk, mostly keeping to themselves and their land. It would truly be a surprise to see one wandering through Rohan, especially now that the times are dire.” He chose to ignore the kindling of hope at the discovery he and his friends had made in the pile of corpses left by Eomer’s men. He had to believe Merry and Pippin were still alive, but bringing it up now would serve no purpose, other than to make his own thoughts gloomy. 

“Such soft folk in these war-haunted lands?” Theoden mused quietly, staring into the fire. “They should not have come here, Aragorn. Death awaits us on every step. The orcs are crawling these plains… We may all die tomorrow.” His thoughts turned grim and unkind, and Aragorn frowned, looking upon his features. King Theoden was a handsome man and his royal beauty had not been diminished with time.  It had always been there, drifting just under the surface, shining at everyone who dared to look upon his face, without consequence to age and weariness. But now, when those noble features twisted in disdain, he suddenly looked older, more careworn than Aragorn had ever seen him . 

“We may die, or we may win, that is not for us to decide.” The ranger countered, hoping to restore some of the king’s optimism that had once shone like a bright light, but Theoden shook his head with a sigh.    
“Their host is great, as you are well aware. Come! You know better than that, Aragorn. We may put on our armors and wave our swords outside these walls, but inside these rooms, there are no people to rile up, no scared teens to keep afloat!” He leaned back, letting his head rest on the back of the chair, his eyes focusing on a distant point somewhere above Aragorn’s head. “This battle will be our end, and a splendid end we must make it.”    
“There’s hope still, my king!” The ranger answered, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Your people are not many, but they’re courageous. They will not be defeated, not easily at least! You still have hope!” He said fiercely, eyes blazing. Something in his words must have caught Theoden’s attention, for the king turned his head to look at his companion, his eyebrows raised in a curious inquiry. 

“Hope?” He asked softly . “Ay! I have hope. I have hope to die on the battlefield, instead crumpling of old age when an unexpected breeze is strong enough to knock me over… I have had a taste of such life under Grima’s thumb,” he muttered, wincing, taking a sip of his wine hastily. “Nevermore! I would sooner die by the sword than by the inevitable rot brought with time.”   
“You are young still, my friend!” Aragorn returned, staring at the king with surprise.    
“Ah, maybe in your Dúnedain fashion I am, but in the years of Men, my future is shorter than my past, and by a considerable amount.” He chuckled, his eyes glittering. “I am an old man, Aragorn. An old man who remembers too many battles and too many dark times… You, on the other hand!” He said, waving a hand around and indicating Aragorn’s whole posture. “You have not changed a bit since the last time I saw you. Tell me, will I ever see your face with a set of wrinkles matching mine? It would be mighty fitting for a king, you know!” 

There was then the attitude that had won Thorongil over so many decades ago, the brazen manner of a young lad that had made him look twice and pause to think of his lonely nights in a cold tent. It was still there, bringing memories and ideas, filling Aragorn with a curious sort of warmth that had nothing to do with the wine he was slowly consuming.  Theoden had been an impudent youth, filled with bold words and equipped in brave hands. Now, though… 

Now the young brassiness was nowhere to be found, outshined by wise maturity and kindness hiding in those crystal-clear eyes, their glint sharpened by mischief. 

“I do have to admit that age looks good on a crowned head, especially one as enticing as yours,” Aragorn said slowly, slipping from his chair and moving around on his knees, until he was posed right at Theoden’s feet, his hands finding their place on the king’s knees. Theoden laughed, throwing his head back, before he looked at the ranger again, an incredulous expression taking over his features.    
“Have you lost your mind, my lord Aragorn?” He asked, barely able to hide his amusement. “In the old days, this might have been a good idea, but now?”    
“I see nothing wrong with it,” Aragorn muttered, letting his gaze drift down, smiling when he spotted a very clear sign of Theoden’s waking interest. “And you do not seem to find any fault in it, either.” He grinned when the king shook his head again with a resigned sigh. Theoden opened his mouth to add something else,  a kind rebuttal and an injustice to himself all wrapped up in a nice package, going by the look in his eyes, but was stopped when Aragorn leaned up. 

A kiss was placed upon the king’s lips, then another. Aragorn kept them light and fleeting, until he could shift enough to bend himself over Theoden and find an angle that allowed him a deeper connection. He hummed in delight when the king permitted him this, tilting his head and granting his tongue unlimited access. It was clear that Theoden had learned a lot during their time apart, and Aragorn could hardly find any traces of the lad he had bedded almost fifty years before.  This here was a man, experienced and steady, kissing him back with slow deliberation, not hesitating, but not giving more than he thought to be necessary. It was driving the ranger quite mad, and he fisted both hands in Theoden’s robes, creasing rich velvet between his clenched fingers, feeling his own trousers becoming tight. 

“What would you have of me?” Theoden asked quietly when they parted for breath, his gaze boring into Aragorn’s face.    
“I would have your company, my king,” he whispered against Theoden’s parted lips, licking his own quickly. “I would have the honor of lying with you like in the old days. I would have your pleasure, for from here on, pain and death await us, and I would gladly meet them with kind memories in my heart.” 

There was a moment when Aragorn thought he would be refused, Theoden’s eyes taking him in with a considerate deliberation, before the king nodded.    
“Very well,” he said, leaning in for one more kiss, his right hand finding its way into Aragorn’s hair and threading through the unruly mane. The ranger hummed, enchanted by the scrape of Theoden’s short beard over his own stubbled chin, before Theoden pulled away again. With a few decisive moves, he stood them both up, smirking at Aragorn’s surprised expression. 

“I may be willing to fall into your arms, my lord, but I am indeed an old man and I do require a bed,” he said in a serious tone betraying years of giving commands. Aragorn felt a shiver trickling down his spine when he realized that the mischievous spark had never left the king’s eyes. In the face of such charm, the ranger had no choice but to follow him on slightly uncooperative legs, his mind too busy admiring the confident grace with which Theoden moved as he walked through the room. 

Once they found themselves at the edge of the spacious bed, the king turned to him and brought their mouths together in a kiss so searing, Aragorn thought he might collapse. It had been too long since he had felt like this - between his daydreaming about Arwen and his stints with Elves, the ranger had forgotten just how good a solid male body pressing into him could feel. And so he let himself be kissed, his own hands wrapping around Theoden’s shoulders, roaming over his back still covered with the rich, velvet robes. A moment later, it proved wise to have his hands hooked thus around Theoden’s figure, for the king surprised him in a manner similar to that which he used to in his youth. 

A swift kick and a skillful twist of their bodies, and Aragorn’s back hit the thick furs spread on the bed, his body pinned to them by Theoden’s weight. It was a comfortable fit, something even more exciting than the wiry body upon his own decades ago, and Aragorn arched up against him, rubbing and teasing, feeling the heat slowly growing between them. Theoden pulled his head back for a moment, gazing down at him, running one hand from Aragorn’s forehead down the side of his face, until his fingers changed their direction and touched the scar right over his lip. 

“Of all the marks I gave you, this was not the one I wanted you to keep,” he murmured reverently, his eyes softening for a heartbeat. Aragorn grinned. He remembered well the day they had been sparring when young Theoden had surprised him with a well aimed - and completely unexpected - thrust with his sword. At the last moment, Aragorn had parried the attack, but the tip of the sword had cut through his lip and upwards, leaving a shallow but profusely bleeding wound.    
“I have always been happy for any of your marks, my king Theoden,” Aragorn said, still grinning, his tongue darting out to lick across the fingers still placed upon his lips. Something changed then, the playfulness was back in Theoden’s eyes suddenly, the hue of it darker than before. A heartbeat later, Aragorn found it hard to breathe for the passion with which he was kissed hotly. 

He surrendered with a moan, shifting his legs until there was enough space for Theoden to fall between them, hands busy trying to undo clasps and lacings on their robes. He succeeded somehow, managing to bare their fronts, and when Theoden pressed him down into the furs again, Aragorn forgot about the rest of their clothes hanging from their sides and pooling around them. It was not important, not when he felt the heat of the king’s arousal sliding against his own as Theoden left a trail of biting kisses down his neck. He doubted there were any supplies stored in the dusty keep they were housed in, certainly not of the type they needed, so the ranger devoted himself to running his hands over every inch of available skin, thrusting his hips up and grinding against the king. Theoden seemed to have remembered their old, playful ways, and after a few long minutes, he grabbed Aragorn’s wrists and yanked his hands up, leaning over him and kissing him again, muffling the wild sounds escaping him. After that, it took only a handful of thrusts and one of Theoden’s hands sneaking between them. 

When they lay spent, catching panting breaths and exchanging languid kisses, a moment of bitterness came over the king, who pulled away and rested on his side, his gaze glued to Aragorn’s face.    
“If it is in my hands,” he said slowly, “I will see you survive this war, Aragorn. My people may not make it, not all of them. But you… you need to survive and sit on the throne of Gondor.” 

Hearing that, Aragorn frowned, turning to his side and gazing back at the king. He reached out with one hand, ran his fingers through Theoden’s messed up hair, then tucked a strand behind the king’s ear. He let his hand linger on Theoden’s cheek, his thumb stroking softly under the tired eye.   
“Your words are a great honor to me, even if they are foolish,” Aragorn said finally. “I would have you remember something else, my king. My name is Aragorn, but I was named _Estel_ also, and in the tongue of Elves it means _hope.”_ He smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Hope is with you, and we shall win this battle yet, as will we triumph in this war. The shadow will never hold sway over Middle Earth.” 

Theoden swallowed heavily, then nodded, opening his mouth to say something, but there was a knock on the heavy door of his chambers.    
“Your highness?” A voice sounded outside, and Theoden sighed, sitting up.    
“What is it?” He asked loudly, running his hand tiredly over his face.    
“There is an army of Elves coming to the keep, my king!” The voice behind the door answered, its quality diminished through the wood. Theoden twisted around, looking at Aragorn with such surprise, the ranger grinned widely.    
“There’s hope still!” He said, getting out of bed when the king stood up.    
“Welcome them inside!” Theoden cried in the direction of the door, wasting no time on buttoning and lacing his clothes up. Aragorn helped him, smiling the whole time, then looked to his own attire. Just before he walked out, Theoden slid up to him, grabbed him by the arms and pressed him into the wall behind them, giving him a thorough kiss.

When they parted, it was with smiles and determination shining in their eyes. On the next day, after Gandalf’s timely arrival, after the good people of Rohan could breathe peacefully once again, it was Aragorn who pushed Theoden into the nearest wall, then dragged him deep into the darkened corridors of Hornburg, reaffirming their living status and kindling fresh hope inside the king. 

  
  



End file.
